Dinner Date
by cathrl
Summary: Two young people, one restaurant table, and a snowstorm...TIWF Kiss A Brother Challenge entry.


This was my entry for the TIWF Kiss a Brother Challenge.

As always, any and all comments are very welcome.

**Dinner Date**

It wasn't what you're thinking.

Really it wasn't.

I went to Henri's that evening fully expecting to meet my husband there. The weather was filthy, just as it had been all day, but Rupert had called me an hour earlier. He'd left on time and would meet me there. A little bit of snow wasn't going to slow him down – he'd flown in Antarctica, after all. I had more concern for my best – and currently slightly tight – blue silk dress than for his safety.

The driver pulled up directly in front of the entrance and luck was on my side – it was a relative lull, with only light snow rather than the veritable blizzard of a few minutes earlier. The doorman saw me coming and held the door wide. I cried my thanks as I bolted through it as best I could in my high heels, and he shut it sharply behind me.

Rupert wasn't waiting in one of the deep leather armchairs at the bar, and I felt the first pangs of alarm. I'd assumed he would be there before me. I was, after all, my customary five minutes late – long enough for Rupert to sweet-talk the waiter into giving us the best table, and to have a man-to-man discussion on the merits of the wine list.

"Miss Buckingham!" the host, Henri himself, exclaimed. "No, of course, Mrs Ashworth. I'm so sorry. Will your husband be joining you? I believe he made the reservation."

"I was expecting him to be here already," I told him. "He was coming here direct from the airport. He'd have called if –"

As if on cue, my phone rang. "Excuse me," I said to Henri, but he was already stepping away discreetly. "Hello?"

"Della, I'm so sorry," Rupert's voice said over a dreadfully crackly line. "They've closed the airport. I did suggest I could land even if they didn't plough the runway, but they seemed to feel this would be poor form. The nearest open airstrip is a hundred miles away."

"You're not coming?" I asked stupidly.

"Of course I'm coming, darling. You think a bit of snow could keep me away? But it's going to take me three hours at best by the time I've found a hire car, and you'll want dinner long before then. Have a lovely meal, and I'll see you back at the hotel. I recommend the chicken chasseur, and you won't be needing a wine recommendation…"

The signal disintegrated into static, and I folded the phone away, feeling more than a little lost. I didn't think I'd ever eaten at a restaurant alone before. Rupert was right, though – I was hungry now, and still slightly jet-lagged from my trans-Atlantic flight of two days ago. In three hours time I would be fainting on the floor. No, I'd eat Henri's chicken chasseur alone – I had to smile at Rupert thinking I would have forgotten it – and then I could have a room service snack later while Rupert had dinner, whenever he arrived.

I turned back to discuss this with Henri, only to find his attention was elsewhere. He wasn't even giving me that polite non-attention which such people are so very good at when one of their customers is on the phone. No, Henri was talking to a handsome man of about my age who had just come in from the storm, snow on his hair and the shoulders of his coat.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Tracy," Henri said, his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. "As you can see, I simply have no spare table tonight. If only you had reserved!"

Tracy smiled ruefully. "I hadn't planned to be in town tonight, or of course I would have done. Never mind. Next time."

He turned to leave, and I acted on impulse. "You can share my table, if you like."

Scott Tracy turned, all professional politeness. "That's a kind offer, miss, but I'm afraid I can't –"

I wasn't particularly surprised that he didn't remember me. We had only met once, after all, and it was several years ago now. And, while Rupert's job meant I was well aware of people like Scott Tracy, especially when prompted by someone else using his surname, he would hardly be likely to remember what I looked like.

I held up my left hand, displaying the ring. "I'm Rupert Ashworth's wife, Della. I was at school with Penny. We met at her garden party when you were at Oxford? You were going to come to our wedding. I think you were ill."

His face visibly relaxed, after a moment of tension. "I was. I had some horrible virus, and decided to keep it to myself. I was sorry to miss it."

"So the least you can do is keep me company. Rupert was flying in to join me, but the airport's closed and he can't land."

"And I can't take off. Are you sure Rupert won't mind?"

"If Rupert was here he'd have suggested a threesome." I flushed wildly, realising too late just how bad that sounded. "At dinner. Of course."

"So…?" prompted Henri discreetly?

"I'll take Mrs Ashworth up on her kind offer," Scott said. "Now, if you'll just excuse me for a moment…"

He headed for the cloakrooms, and I let Henri lead me to the table in the far corner. Not the most discreet one – that was occupied by four older gentlemen who I vaguely recognised from the evening news. I rather thought they were senators, but they could have been congressmen. The table diagonally opposite mine was occupied by a young man who I didn't recognise, a younger woman who I thought I'd seen in the society pages and who couldn't stop playing with an extremely large diamond ring, and backed by two professional bodyguard types. Probably royalty, then. One of the minor European houses – they were generally paranoid about assassinations, despite the last one having been nearly a century ago. The last table – Henri's was extremely exclusive – held an underdressed young woman in too much makeup who talked too loudly, two dress-alike hangers-on, and a smartly dressed, embarrassed-looking older gentleman who I guessed was her father. Her record was at number one for the fifth week in a row, so I presumed they were celebrating her success.

Scott soon returned, casually acknowledging one of the politicians with a smile and a raised hand as he crossed to my table, now minus the coat and the layer of snow. He wore a perfectly tailored charcoal grey suit, a cream shirt, and a purple and black striped tie. One of the Oxford colleges, I thought. Oxford was where he'd met Rupert – the university squadron had managed to find a way to bend the 'Commonwealth only' rules to allow the eldest son of Jeff Tracy to join. Their intake of female recruits had promptly trebled, Rupert had told me with some amusement. I could certainly believe it. The pop starlet at the next table was practically drooling, and even her fangirls had transferred some of their fixation. And what was not to like? The man was classically tall, dark and handsome; blue eyes to die for, more money than most small countries, and single.

Then again, despite having met both him and Rupert at the same party, I'd fallen head over heels in love with the somewhat scrawny, grey-eyed, mouse-haired man who was barely taller than I was. Infatuation doesn't last. You have to love the person, not just the view.

Scott took his seat with a casual grace, apparently oblivious to the looks he was getting from the next table, and opened the wine menu which had been put in his place. "Mrs Ashworth –"

"Della," I interrupted firmly. "Mrs Ashworth is my mother-in-law. Well, actually, she's Lady Ashworth, but the point stands. If you call me Mrs Ashworth, I'll have to remember to call you Mr Tracy – and since Rupert always refers to you as Scott, I haven't a chance."

"Della it is, then. Thank you so much for this. I was just resigning myself to room service, and that's miserable alone. Now, I have to fly tomorrow, assuming the storm breaks, of course, but what do you want to drink?"

I couldn't help glancing down. The silk was, if anything, stretched a little tighter when I was sitting. "I'm drinking water."

"Not even…" He stopped, blinked a couple of times. "Ah. May I offer my congratulations? And, since Grandma will have my ears if I don't ask, when are you due?"

"Early in April," I said. I refuse point blank to admit to April the first.

"Not so long, then. Rupert hasn't said anything."

"No. We were planning to be a little less than discreet tonight, rather than making a formal announcement. Hence the dress. We'll have to rethink that one."

"There's always tomorrow." The wine waiter had come over, and Scott shut the folder and handed it back with a regretful shake of his head. "Unfortunately neither of us can drink tonight. Just don't let your customers drink all that '21 Saint-Emilion before I come back…"

The wine waiter smiled, mollified. "I'll save one for you, sir."

"Excellent." Scott turned his attention to the dinner menu – hand-written, as always, in beautiful curving script – and then looked up at me. "Tell me if there's anything you don't want to share a table with, won't you?"

I laughed. "Rupert says I've been eating for five. It's not a problem. Eat anything you want. I plan to have garlic, if that's what you are worried about."

And he did. We both did. I couldn't tell you what he ate, because it came described by streams of French far beyond my half-forgotten school girl level. I stuck to my old favourites – chicken, baguette on the side, garlic mushrooms to start. Rupert always laughed at how unadventurous I was, but it wasn't as if we ate here often. Even Rupert wouldn't fly three thousand miles for dinner. And then, for dessert, the glory that is Italian ice cream, even if it was a French restaurant. I had lemon – again, an old favourite. Scott had chocolate. From things Rupert had said, he was sticking with an old favourite, too.

We didn't talk much. I was too busy eating. Scott might have been – or maybe he was just being polite. In between courses he asked after Penny, but it turned out that he'd seen her far more recently than I had. He was vague about where. He mentioned how glad he was that Rupert hadn't taken the Fireflash job he'd been offered, given the problems it had had. He asked what I did, and I explained that I was an illustrator. I think he had visions of beautiful artwork, but I explained that I specialised in simplified technical diagrams for instructional manuals. I am very good at drawing pictures of hands doing complicated things – with bits of rope, bandages, nuts and bolts… And it's an ideal career to do part time with children. I tried to get Scott to talk about his job, after spending so much time boring him with mine, but he was vague about that as well. I wasn't particularly surprised. His test pilot work for Tracy Industries was, of course, confidential, his business work for them was too. I couldn't tell him much about what Rupert was doing, either. I didn't know myself.

Scott gave me a standing invitation to come visit their private island once baby was born and old enough to travel, and I returned the offer – although I knew that was a standing invitation already, made by Rupert several years ago.

And then our coffee was drunk, our handmade chocolates eaten, and, much as I'd enjoyed the evening, I found myself yawning.

"I'm still jet-lagged," I said before I could appear rude.

Scott waved his hand, and the waiter appeared instantly.

"Could you call us a cab, please?"

The man disappeared, and I'm afraid I left everything else to Scott. I'd intended to pay – it was, after all, my reservation – but the waves of sleepiness were too intense. It might have gone on Rupert's account, but I suspect Scott paid for both our meals, and tipped too. The waiter fetched my coat, and I slipped it on even as a second waiter came over and discreetly announced that our cab was here.

We walked out into a clear, cold night, and the sleep left my brain in a hurry. Outside Henri's at ten, and of course there were photographers. Half the photos in the gossip columns of the local rags must be taken here. And here I was, walking down the steps, my coat open, my tight dress displaying my pregnancy to the world – and without my husband here to share the moment or field the questions.

I gasped and turned to hide my front – and was caught by Scott.

"Trust me," he whispered, and swept me into the most intense embrace and kiss I'd ever experienced.

For five seconds I wondered why I didn't just throw everything away and go home with him. There were flashbulbs all around, and I didn't care. Nobody had ever swept me off my feet like this before. I was drowning in happiness, and I responded. Far more than I should have.

Beside me, a car door clicked and a puff of warm air brought me back to reality, as Scott guided me inside the car and shut the door solidly behind me. Shortly he got in the other side.

"Where are you staying?" he asked.

I gave the driver the name of my hotel, and turned to Scott, my face scarlet with more than the temperature difference.

"I'm sorry," he said. "It was the only way I could think of to keep the cameras away from… If I – "

"No. No," I stuttered. "I…You…"

Della, you're kind and sweet and madly in love with Rupert. And I'm your friend, and no more than that. Now, you and Rupert make your announcement tomorrow morning, and the pictures will be of you and him together. It'll be completely obvious to the stupidest paparazzi at that point that they were had. You should probably tell Rupert to call me as soon as he gets in, though. I'd hate him to hear Chinese whispers about what just happened. Don't you Brits still duel?"

I giggled. "Pistols at dawn?"

"Or swords – wasn't Rupert a fencing Blue? I don't fancy being a kebab."

The cab had slowed, and now stopped outside my hotel. This time, I fastened my coat properly.

"You'll come to baby's christening, of course," I said as the driver opened the cab door for me.

"I'll try. Sometimes things come up at the last minute."

"After all, he can't be christened without his godfather there."

I left him gaping in the cab, and headed for my hotel suite. I could see from the street that the lights on the top floor were on. Rupert never closed the curtains unless I made a fuss. He would be waiting for me, and I suspected he'd be as amused by the story as I was. Just as long as I kept that short moment of reaction to myself. I love Rupert with my whole heart. But even I'm not immune to a touch of infatuation.


End file.
